


Drunken Conversations I

by raisedbymoogles



Series: Drunken Conversations [1]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Loyalty, debate, inebriation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 15:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisedbymoogles/pseuds/raisedbymoogles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cyclonus and Springer are overcharged. Because that's the only state in which they can hold a civil conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Main Fic

**Author's Note:**

> Posted mostly because I am writing another fic along the same lines and need someplace to put it.

"You know what your problem is?"

Cyclonus lifted his optics from the table he sat at. Springer, just overcharged enough to be interesting, was pointing a large green finger at him. Cyclonus, in a similar state, arched an optic ridge. "I know you're about to tell me."

Springer plunked himself down on the chair opposite him and gestured with a half-full cube - not his first, judging by the careless way it tipped in his hand, but then the party disguised as an interfaction cooperation session had been going on for some hours. "You think you're the only mech - the only person in the whole damn galaxy! - to ever have been loyal."

If he'd been entirely sober, Cyclonus would have glared, snapped, maybe even threatened to shoot the accuser. As it was, he simply lifted his chin in a deliberate display of arrogance. "Comparatively speaking, that's probably true."

"See? See?" Springer waved that finger again, and Cyclonus found himself wanting to insist it be registered as a weapon. "Well, lemme tell you - you're slaggin' loyal, but you didn't invent the concept. You ain't even alone at the top." He smacked his own chest with the hand not holding the cube. "I," he declared, "am every bit as loyal to Roddy as you are to Galvatron!"

"You," Cyclonus rumbled, leaning an elbow on the table, "are full of slag."

"How do _you_ know?"

"For one thing, you refer to him as 'Roddy.' "

"So what? He's my friend!" Springer drained the rest of his cube and tossed the empty on the table. "Just 'cause I don't kneel to him doesn't mean slag. 'Loyalty' and 'obedience' aren't always the same thing."

"Ultra Magnus would disagree with you there, I think," Cyclonus pointed out idly.

Springer snorted. "Ultra Magnus is loyal to the _office_ of Prime." Cyclonus didn't think that was quite accurate, but he was too amused by Springer's discourse to want to interrupt it. "I got Roddy's back. I look after his interests. I put my own aft on the line for him."

"Then why aren't _you_ second in command?"

"Who'd want that job?" Springer grinned, and Cyclonus found himself chortling at the jibe, rather than bristling. "Nah," Springer concluded, leaning back in a self-satisfied attitude, "I can look after Roddy just fine where I am."

Cyclonus swirled his own cube thoughtfully. After a moment he asked, "Would you die for him?"

Springer scowled. "Are you slaggin' kiddin' me? Hasn't he had enough sacrifice to last him a dozen lifetimes?"

"If the answer is no, then say no." Determined, Cyclonus drained the rest of his cube. "There's no shame in it. Few are called to such a high level of service."

"High level my aft," Springer responded fiercely. "The answer is that it's a stupid slagging question. It's bad enough when one of us dies in battle, and that's just slag that happens. If I died in Roddy's service - _deliberately_ \- well..." The fierceness drained from him, and Springer shook his head, looking disturbingly sober in that moment. "Trust me, Cyc. That ain't no kinda loyalty to my Prime."

Cyclonus didn't question Springer's use of Rodimus's nickname for him. "Or your friend?" he asked carefully.

"Now you're gettin' it. Look. I'll show you. Hey, _Rod!"_ he bellowed across the room. "C'mere!"

Rodimus Prime excused himself from his overcharged wreck of a conversation partner and approached. "Hey, Springer. Hey, Cyc," he greeted them both with equal warmth.

"Settle a bet for us, will ya?" Springer offered casually. "What's your idea of the perfect subordinate?"

Rodimus's lips quirked in a smile all out of tune with his optics, and it occurred to Cyclonus that the Prime was far too sober. "Someone who doesn't blindly follow my orders."

"See?" Springer shot at Cyclonus, who only nodded in thoughtful acknowledgement. "Siddown, kid. You aren't charged enough. Even the mighty Prime needs to cut loose and drink!"

Rodimus laughed and sat down with them, relaxing into a highly unPrimelike sprawl. "In that case, let's play a drinking game," he proposed, which sufficiently intrigued Cyclonus to let him table his thoughtfulness for another time.


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The debate gets more interesting with the addition of a fourth conversation partner.

"I want someone who knows me well, but not... _too_ well. You know? There still needs to be some mystery there. A little tension."

Cyclonus felt as dazed as Rodimus sounded, the late hour and the high-grade apparently getting to them both. Springer leaned back and laughed languidly. "You want someone who you can outsmart, you mean," he teased.

Rodimus made protesting noises, waving a hand at him. "Back me up, Galvatron," he demanded crankily, and was answered by a rolling, relaxed chuckle.

Galvatron, a good-humored drunk tonight, sprawled back in his chair and gestured with his sixth cube. "Your idea of the perfect subordinate is someone you can argue with," he offered, optics glittering.

"I like to argue," Rodimus admitted, reaching for his own highgrade. Springer made 'does he ever' noises and Rodimus kicked him under the table.

Galvatron smirked at the wounded (wounded, I say!) Wrecker, clearly agreeing with the sentiment. "My _dear_ Prime, you've got it all wrong. The ideal subordinate is one who yields." So stating, he reached out and dragged Cyclonus onto his lap. The spacejet went willingly, too overcharged himself to spare a thought to dignity, and arched with a croon as Galvatron molested his wing.

"Wow," Springer stated intelligently. Rodimus was more used to the sight, but no less affected, his engine rumbling unsteadily as he watched.

"You see, Rodimus?" Galvatron smirked over Cyclonus's shoulder.

Rodimus blinked. "I... actually? I'm trying to decide which of you I'm more jealous of." As Galvatron barked a laugh, the young Prime turned to _his_ subordinate. "Wanna help me find out?"

Springer purred. "Whatever you want, babe." His aft left the seat, only to plunk right down again when Rodimus fairly leapt onto his lap.

"Touch me," the Prime ordered, squirming over Springer's thighs; Springer blinked at him, then caught Galvatron's openly lustful optics past Rodimus's arm and gulped. Slowly, his hands came up to fondle and squeeze Rodimus's spoiler, just as Galvatron was treating Cyclonus's wings.

"An obedient and willing subordinate," Galvatron purred into Cyclonus's antenna, "clearly the best kind." Rodimus hummed in agreement.


End file.
